Tonight
by Open Casket Ceremony
Summary: When Ichigo stumbles into his room in a drunken mess in the middle of the night, Hitsugaya is determined to get to the bottom of things. IchiHitsu, oneshot.


Author's Note: Sorry I _still_ haven't been updating my other fic! This one came to me when I was sitting in class, being really bored…anyway, read, review…the usual. And of course, enjoy…hopefully! In case you haven't noticed, it's set in the Arrancar arc when Hitsugaya and co. first fight and encounter the Arrancar in the real world. It's not really an exciting fic with much action of all, more of a thing to get you thinking. So this one is actually a little boring – sorry about that.

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**Tonight**

**By Open Casket Ceremony**

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Tonight was not unlike any other typical night.

In Soul Society, as usual, the air was still, dark, and cold, an occasional full moon enveloping the landscape in a soft, sorrowful, pale and pearly glow. There was not much noise, aside from the monotonous drone of insects and the occasional drunkard passing by.

However, tonight, Hitsugaya Toshiro was not in Soul Society as he normally would.

Far from the comforts of his spacious and meticulously tidied administrative office, for the time being, the snow-haired prodigy was forced to be content with Kurosaki Ichigo's bedroom as his makeshift spot to finish up paperwork.

It wasn't like he had intended on staying there.

It was just that at Inoue Orihime's house, it was extremely hard to concentrate on getting the paperwork done with two squealing, giggling girls breathing down his neck every second of the day.

So grudgingly, he had forced himself to Ichigo's house, requesting to spend the night there so he could finish up his work. It hadn't been a proud moment for the young captain, but Ichigo had been more than happy to show him to his room.

And now, at this moment, Hitsugaya was all alone in the quiet and dimly lit bedroom, sitting at the strawberry's desk and going through the stack of papers he had brought with him from Soul Society.

Ichigo had gone out for a while, and Hitsugaya was expecting him back at any second.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tugging at the crisply ironed collar of the school uniform he had worn, from earlier in the day when he and his subordinates had gone to pay Ichigo a little visit at school and inform him on the Arrancar situation.

This was troublesome. Why, in the human world, was everything so much more complicated?

With a sigh, he moved on to the next sheet of paperwork, bored emerald eyes focused on the text while thin fingers drummed on the desktop in a distracted fashion.

Was he really worried?

Ichigo had left late in the afternoon, promising to be back before dinner.

Obviously, he hadn't done a very good job at adhering to his promises because that had been several hours ago, and now, it was nearly midnight.

"He probably just got distracted, or lost," Hitsugaya told himself sternly, determined to disallow his concern from wavering his focus on his paperwork. "Kurosaki may be stupid, but he's not a complete idiot. He'll be back soon."

A cricket sang outside the window.

There was suddenly a loud _thump_ outside the bedroom door, disrupting the silence and startling Hitsugaya. His eyes flickered to the clock. Midnight exact. The said orbs then moved again to the closed bedroom door.

He was silent, and presently, he heard another rude _thump_.

A pause.

_Thump_.

This time, the sound was much more distressed. Then there came a low, muffled moan, like a wounded animal.

"_Kurosaki?"_

Alarmed, Hitsugaya leapt out of his seat to the bedroom door, seizing the knob and twisting it, pulling the door wide open. He didn't have to see Ichigo to know that something was wrong, and his intuition was right on the mark – something most definitely _was_ wrong.

The substitute shinigami's normally lively and fierce eyes were murky with a dull haze, and his bright orange hair was badly disheveled. His jacket was torn, and the rest of his clothes were covered with dirt and mussed. There was something else staining his garments, too – dark, deep, terrifyingly crimson blots were scattered across the fabric of his clothes. Blood. And it was on his hands, on his face, dripping from his lips, accompanied by several ugly bruises and welts. The nauseating smell of alcohol radiated from his body and breath.

"Kurosaki," Hitsugaya murmured, taken aback. "You…You're…"

"…Drunk," Ichigo finished for him, his voice low and raspy.

"Yes," Hitsugaya answered quietly, his eyes downcast, "You're drunk."

What the hell had happened? What had brought the strawberry to this state?

"Come here," the prodigy finally said, reaching upwards and pulling Ichigo by the shoulders into the room, pushing him gently onto the bed. He reached to the desktop, taking a glass of water and tipping it to the exhausted strawberry's lips.

"Drink," he commanded sternly, like one would to a young child.

Nodding weakly, Ichigo complied, taking in the liquid in several slow, painstaking gulps, before, gasping for breath, flopping back down onto the bed.

"Kurosaki, what were you doing?" Hitsugaya asked, "You're completely wasted and completely beat up. What happened?"

"Nothing," was the unwilling reply, "I just had too much to drink – _ow!_" He hissed sharply in pain as Hitsugaya, without missing a beat, began to bandage his bleeding arms.

"You're a mess," the boy answered, "It must have been _something_."

"I got into a fight. That's all," muttered Ichigo, wincing as Hitsugaya went on to his other arm. "Just a fight…a little one…" He paused before adding, "Hey, don't tell Dad, okay? He'll think something's wrong."

"I won't."

"Thanks."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"You're too rash, Kurosaki," Hitsugaya finally spoke as he reached upwards to the older teen's face, dabbing gingerly at the blood with his sleeve in an attempt to remove it from his lightly tanned complexion. "You shouldn't have done that."

"I know," Ichigo mumbled, "But…there were a bunch of guys from school…they saw you earlier today…They were saying some shitty stuff about you. I got pissed."

"You need some serious anger management."

"They were making me mad."

"I know they were. You shouldn't have let them provoke you so easily."

"They were talking shit about you."

"I know."

"They called you some pretty dirty things."

"I would think so."

There was another pause.

Finally, Ichigo blurted out, "They don't know you, Toshiro. I just can't keep my cool when someone that doesn't even know you would have the guts to call you a…a _little slut_ or a _white-haired whore_…or to ask me if they could…they could have a go with you…"

Hitsugaya had to admit this was a little unnerving.

"They were just drunk," Hitsugaya muttered, "Drunk like you were. You shouldn't have taken them seriously."

"They weren't joking," Ichigo insisted.

"I'm sure they were."

"Toshiro, you know how it is. You _know_ I can't control myself…when…"

There was another uncomfortable silence, before Hitsugaya finished his sentence quietly.

"…When your hollow wants to come out."

Ichigo nodded weakly, before coughing roughly. He rolled over onto his side, his fingers gripping the bedspread as he coughed again, a harsh, grating cough. Then, after another tamer bout of coughs, his body convulsed and he retched loudly. Vomit splattered to the floor.

Hitsugaya blinked, before wordlessly leaving Ichigo's bedside, only to return a few moments later with a paper towel from the kitchen, kneeling to the floor and quietly cleaning up the mess.

"Toshiro…you don't have to…"

"Then what? You're going to leave your vomit on the floor? It'll make a stain."

"…Thanks."

"It's nothing."

Another long and awkward silence filled the room.

To try to ease the uncomfortable lack of conversation, Hitsugaya cleared his throat before speaking again. "How are you feeling, Kurosaki?"

"Like shit."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

The substitute shinigami paused before coughing again, and Hitsugaya was worried that he might empty his bowels on the carpet again, but thankfully, it didn't happen this time. Although, the incessant coughing was starting to worry him a little, and he was afraid that Ichigo had taken _way_ to much alcohol, and that his body might be a mess.

The prodigy held the water glass to Ichigo's lips again, wordlessly coaxing him to take another drink in hopes that it would help clear his system.

It didn't do much. The strawberry coughed it back up a few seconds later anyway.

Groaning loudly, Ichigo flopped back over onto his back, his hands moving to his face to rub at his throbbing temples.

"You should sleep, Kurosaki," Hitsugaya murmured, reaching to Ichigo's forehead to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It…my hollow…"

"It's alright, Kurosaki, I understand."

"No," Ichigo retorted suddenly, his voice sharper and harder, a steely and frustrated bite to it that startled the emerald-eyed boy. "No, you don't."

"Kurosaki…"

"I killed someone tonight, Toshiro."

There was another silence.

"_What?"_

"I killed someone," the orange-haired teen repeated, his voice bitter.

"No," Hitsugaya answered quietly, "It wasn't you. It was your hollow-"

"The hollow is part of me. It was as much as my fault as it was his. I couldn't control myself, or it for that matter, and I just…I just went wild. After hearing them say those things about you, I just lost it. The hollow just completely took over me. And then…I don't know what happened next."

"Kurosaki, I…"

"The cops are going to come get me, aren't they?"

"No," Hitsugaya murmured, "I won't let them."

"You know, Toshiro," Ichigo chuckled nervously in disbelief, "This…This is not a proud moment for me. And I'm sorry you have to pick up my slack."

"I don't mind."

For the thousandth time that night, there was yet another awkward silence.

Finally, Ichigo spoke.

"Toshiro, can you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"…Can I…Can I hold your hand?"

Hitsugaya hesitated before glancing towards the strawberry's face. His face was damp – with not sweat, but tears of disbelief. Finally, he slowly raised his hand and placed it on the bedspread next to Ichigo's arm. A moment later, the substitute shinigami's fingers intertwined with his, and stayed there. It was hot and felt feverish to touch, but oddly comforting.

"Thanks…Toshiro…" Ichigo murmured.

Hitsugaya nodded quietly.

And then Ichigo closed his eyes.


End file.
